These Small Hours
by loveislouder94
Summary: "Fighting her feelings is futile, and she learns to be patient and gracious with the fragility of her own recovery, difficult as it might be. It's the only thing she can do." / Andromeda learns of Tonks and Remus' deaths. Glimpses into ten different moments occurring within the Potter universe. For what are we but the collective result of all our moments?
1. RemusTonks

**Author's Note: This will most likely develop into a series of Harry Potter one-shots, about various characters. If so, updates probably won't be consistent, for which I apologise in advance. Also, this one alludes to events in "Guide You Home," an earlier one-shot of mine, but it's not necessary to read that one first. Anyway, thank you very much for reading.**

December 25th, 1997

"Merry Christmas Remus."

"Merry Christmas Dora."

The greetings are generic, and tinged with a lingering uncertainty, because he's only been back for a month after all, and it's not quite long enough for her to trust him again, or for him to feel comfortable with what their marriage has become.

Tonks' eyes fall on the Christmas tree near the window of her mother's sitting room, the one they decorated together a few days before Remus had come back. The tree is symbolic of all that Christmas embodies – joy, love, peace, grace, and the intangible, priceless and incomparable bonds that exist between human beings.

"Right," she says decisively, "that's enough of this awkwardness," and she envelopes him in a massive hug.

He embraces her a little more cautiously. His arms can no longer wrap around her, their baby – he still trembles inwardly with pride and fear when he considers what they've created – prevents him. He's slowly getting used to the contours of her new body, despite it being a confronting reminder of all his doubts, and his shame.

"That's better. See, baby, isn't this nicer? The baby agrees with me, Remus."

"Of course it does. Who wouldn't agree with you?"

"Exactly."

Nothing more needs to be said, and they simply stay that way for a while, content with each other's company. This kind of silence, the kind where secrets and insecurities have been revealed and do not hang oppressively in the air, the kind where serenity descends, is a blessing.

The sound of Andromeda's footsteps on the stairs cause them to part. This day will be especially hard for her, the first Christmas in many years that she will spend without her husband. Ted's absence is the elephant in the room. They all feel it, but there is an unspoken agreement between the three of them not to broach the subject, as though doing so would bring all their greatest fears to life and take him away from them.

Carrying her breakfast, Andromeda enters the sitting room and takes a seat, staring blankly at the tree. For Tonks, the changes in her mother have never been more apparent. Her composure during the day is always carefully maintained, a testament to her upbringing as a Black, but her hair, once the same mousy brown as her daughter's, had slowly turned grey.

"Mum?" Tonks ventures.

"Oh, Merry Christmas you two," she replies, managing a weak smile.

"Mum…why are you eating now? We're going to the Weasley's for Christmas, remember?"

"Yes, well, I thought I'd stay here. You two can go, though. Don't mind me."

"But Molly invited you as well. She'll be disappointed if you don't come. Besides, do you think dad would have wanted you to sit around all day worrying about him? He'd want you – all of us – to be together, and make the most of Christmas."

Sensing her emotion, Remus grasps her hand. "No one should have to be alone on Christmas." She can't help but return the smile he's giving her, aware that he'd said exactly the same words to her a year ago. A suden rush of gratitude overwhelms her, gratitude for the person beside her and the life they are rebuilding, piece by piece.

* * *

Later, they're sitting side by side on the old Weasley couch. It's seen better days, its springs long since worn away, but Remus thinks he's never been more comfortable than he is right now on this faded couch. Tonks' voice, when she speaks, is a whisper meant for his ears only, and it contains an unmistakable note of anxiety, as though she doesn't want to hear his response.

"I'm so glad you came back."

"So am I Dora," he replies, placing a kiss atop her head. "And this time I promise I'll still be here in the morning."

His attempt at lightening the mood falls flat and she tenses, obviously remembering their last Christmas just as clearly as he is. They've come a long way from the tea and laughter they shared over guard duty and those long nights they spent in Grimmauld Place, trying in vain to dispel the ghosts Sirius struggled to fight alone with the weapon of their presence. She's lost some of her youth and her naiveté, and he's gained a lot more fear and a lot more love, but they both know that there's an even greater way to go yet. The world – both the wider world of the war, and the smaller, precious world that belongs to the two of them – has not known peace lately, but they both hold onto the hope that it will, eventually. It is their hope that keeps them fighting.

He finds himself filled with gratitude, because even though they're in a war, even though there's people dying every day, in this moment, none of that matters. Tonks is beginning to forgive him, and maybe he can finally start to forgive himself.

Suddenly Tonks gasps and places a hand on her growing stomach.

"What's wrong?" Remus asks quickly, his voice tight with tension.

"Nothing's wrong, it's okay. Our baby just kicked." He is conscious of the fact that this is the first time she has called their son – for it will be a boy, somehow he's sure of it – 'our' baby, rather than 'the baby' as she had pointedly been doing since his return. In that deliberate choice he senses that she is, consciously or unconsciously, forgiving him.

He knows it to be true when she gently takes his hand in hers and guides it so that it rests on her stomach, and places hers directly on top, so that they are holding hands.

As Dolohov's curse sails towards him at the Battle of Hogwarts, this is what Remus inexplicably remembers:

The scent of Molly's Christmas pudding, wafting through the house and, beneath that, Dora's lavender perfume, which has always reminded him distinctly of home.

The feel of her bright pink hair tickling his cheek, and of her hand in his.

The sight of her stomach rising and falling with each breath, and their hands intertwined.

And, above all, the incontrovertible truth that he is loved.

Unseen by either of them, Andromeda approaches, camera in hand. "Smile," she breathes, loathe to disturb the beauty of this fleeting flash of time. And with the click of a camera, this moment lasts forever. Just a few months later, death will claim them as his own, and time will ravage their soulless bodies. Yet in this image they are safe and ever-alive, beyond the reaches of such inevitabilities.

When they have gone to a place Andromeda cannot follow, she will show her grandson this photograph, and it will be a testament to the love that brought him into the world. She will raise him to know the stories of his parents' lives, and to cherish in his own the small blessings that life constantly provides from among the storms.


	2. Andromeda

The words are as gentle as it is possible to make the news, but they tear through Andromeda as sure as Kingsley had stabbed her with knives.

"Andromeda, I'm so sorry. I don't know how to say this... Remus and Tonks are dead."

Her response is irrational and instinctive. "No they're not. No...no they're not. I saw them a few hours ago.

"I wish they weren't Andromeda, believe me, I wish... But is there anything I can do for you?"

"No - No, I think - I think I need to be alone right now, thank you."

As soon as Kingsley Shacklebolt shuts the door behind him, Andromeda sinks down with her back against it, rests her head on her knees and finally lets herself grieve.

She cries for Ted, long since dead and beyond her reach the moment he ran away, and she wishes for the years they might have had, watching their grandson grow together. Her grandson, Teddy Remus Lupin. She cries for him, orphaned, and never to know his parents. She cries for Nymphadora, her beautiful daughter, so stubborn, so fiercely loyal, so very Hufflepuff. And she cries for Remus, too, who had somehow found a place in her heart as he had in Nymphadora's. Most of all, she cries for herself. She has never felt more alone in her entire life, not even when she turned her back on her family for good. At least she had Ted then, and now he's been taken from her, just like everything else she loved.

Some part of her rebels against the truth, refuses to believe the words that have been replaying themselves over and over in her head. _Remus and Tonks are dead. Remus and Tonks are dead. Dead. Gone. Never coming back. _"No," she sobs, "No, it's not possible. Not them. Please, not them!" She'd seen them less than 24 hours ago, they'd been alive then, she'd seen them and spoken to them and now they were gone and the world just wasn't right anymore. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. All wrong. The world is wrong and it feels as though it will never be right again.

The pain is unbearable and all she can do is rock back and forth and cry, until eventually she runs out of sounds. For the most extreme emotions, no sound is enough. No sound could possibly express the utter emptiness inside her, the hole that her loss has carved. Her thoughts are a mess, her whole being is a storm of hurt and nothing else exists, nothing else matters, nothing. This pain seems like it will never end, but it will. She recognises that whilst she may not be truly happy ever again, she will not always be this grief stricken. And yet, how can she ever smile again?

Teddy's childish wail eventually penetrates the fog her mind has become, and she remembers that there is someone who needs her, here. He is hungry, and it is her job to feed him. One thing at a time. First, wipe your eyes, she thinks. Next, stand up, slowly, not too fast. Breathe deeply, in and out. This is what her life will consist of now, baby steps as she figures out how to adjust to her own brokenness.

Her weakness, as she sees it, is frustrating. She's a Black, in breeding if not in nature, and Black's do not crumble so easily. Then again, she doubts they've ever felt this intensely, either. Fighting her feelings is futile, and she learns to be patient and gracious with the fragility of her own recovery, difficult as it might be. It's the only thing she can do.

The war may be over, but Andromeda has another battle to face, one that sometimes seems greater than any that has come before. She, just like everyone else in the Wizarding world, has to rise from the ruins this war has left behind and move forward, pain and all. For as long as she lives, Andromeda will remember the sound of Teddy's piercing cry, and remember it fondly as the one thing that distracted her, if only temporarily, from her own misery. Her grandson, and that one insistent cry, gave her a reason to keep going.


	3. JamesLily

**Author's Note: Enormous thanks to yellow 14, L.A.H.H, ThisLoveHasNoCeiling, potterheadforeverandalways22 3 and Helianthus8844 who have reviewed this story so far. I really appreciate the fact that you have taken the time to leave a comment. Also, I've never written this pairing before, I was always too worried I'd botch it, but I figured there's a first time for everything.**

He almost wasn't going to ask her, because Merlin, all those rejections take their toll, even on someone as resilient as James Potter. But from that day forth he maintained that he knew this day would be different, that on this day, after years of impatient rejections, Lily Evans would agree to go on a date with him.

Admittedly, it wasn't his usual casual shout of "Oi, Evans, want to go on a date with me?" No, he'd abandoned that when he realised that he'd have to adopt a different tactic if he wanted her to believe he was serious about her, and to actually take him seriously. He wanted to appear to her as someone who was mature, and respectable, and worthy of her company, even though sometimes he thought that only angels could ever be worthy of the company of someone so inwardly and outwardly beautiful. And sometimes he was forced to concede he was biased.

He ruffled his hair several times, before, after and while he spoke to her, despite the fact that he was well aware it was a habit she hated. What could he say? Something about her just made him nervous. Maybe it was the fact that of all the people he knew, she had the power to hurt him the most, and she didn't even realise it.

When he approached her, she was walking alone through the courtyard. There was a time when Lily and her dormmates – Alice, Mary and Marlene – were inseparable. But ever since Snivellus had called her a Mudblood, she had been spending more and more time on her own, and it made James' blood boil to think how the words of that snake continued to reach through all the time that separated them from the present and affect her.

On the other hand, he had to admit, it was less daunting approaching her on her own. Confident as he was, when his requests started to become this important to him – important to the point where he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Lily Evans, and every rejection only made him more certain – he'd have preferred not to have the episode played out for the entire school to enjoy.

When he looked back on the day, he remembered that it was bright and sunny, and he thanked whatever higher power there was that it wasn't raining, so that he didn't have to worry about not being able to see out of his glasses, or casting an Impervious charm to keep out the rain. At a time like that, he really didn't need any distractions.

"Lily?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion when she saw him. "What do you want, Potter?" Just because they shared Head Boy and Head Girl duties now, and just because she was beginning to suspect James Potter was someone with whom she could actually get along, and just because her heart sped up when she saw him, didn't mean they were on first name terms all of the sudden. Not in the slightest. At all.

"Well, I was just wondering if, maybe, you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me on Sunday?"

Automatically, her mind shouted no, and her lips parted to form the words of her denial when she realised that it was habit alone, and not any real desire to refuse him, that caused her to respond that way. Instead, she said, "I- I suppose so, yes. Sure."

"Really?" He had to ask her again, just to be sure his ears weren't deceiving him, and this miracle wasn't merely the product of too much wishful thinking.

She hesitated for a moment, and James' stomach did a backflip as he contemplated the crushing disappointment he would feel if it was all just a cruel joke, and then –

"Yes, really. Now please let me get to the library before I change my mind." But she was smiling, and it was a smile that reached her eyes, and James thought he had never appreciated those green irises more.

"See you on Sunday, then?" He called after her.

"See you on Sunday, James." She replied without looking back.

Little did they know, The Moment Lily Evans Said Yes To James Potter (it's capitalised in his mind ever after) was one that would shape not only their own future, but that of the entire wizarding world.


	4. AlbusGellert

**Author's Note: This one is quite short, so I apologise to anyone who would prefer longer chapters. I'll try to make them longer in future, but given that I'm trying to focus on particular moments, I don't want to go on for too long. Also, I took a different approach with this one, personifying Destiny as the narrator, just to experiment with something new. Enormous thanks and appreciation to ThisLoveHasNoCeiling, Goth Bookworm, L.A.H.H, Azerea, Helianthus8844 and TheFifthCharmedOne, who reviewed recently. Also thank you to anyone who Favourited or Alerted this - to know that my work apparently matters enough to warrant that is wonderful. Thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy these!**

On a summer's day in Godric's Hollow, long before Tom Riddle changed his name, and the world along with it, I watched events unfold, as I always do. As I always must. I watched two young, intelligent, ambitious boys meet for the first time, and I watched one of them fall in love.

* * *

"Oh, Albus, did I mention my nephew Gellert is coming to stay with me during the summer? I'll introduce the two of you, I think you'd be great friends. Gellert has a brilliant mind, just like you."

Albus thanked Bathilda and agreed to meet her nephew, but didn't think much more about it, or him, over the next few days. That would soon change.

A few weeks later found Albus at Bathilda's front door at her request. He knocked twice and waited for Bathilda to let him in, but it was not she who answered. Instead, Albus was met by the most handsome young man he had ever seen. Albus was momentarily speechless. The other boy watched him, a smile beginning to form in the corners of his mouth, and waited for him to speak. Finally, he did.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore," he said, sticking out his hand for the other boy to shake. "I live just around the corner, your aunt told me to come over and introduce myself."

"Gellert Grindlewald." The other boy said, taking the proffered hand. As he did so, Albus noticed a ring on his hand engraved with a familiar triangular symbol.

Perhaps he should have waited before asking such a question, but he had never met another who believed, nor someone who was, if Bathilda was to be believed, as intelligent as himself, and he simply could not help it. "Is that – the symbol of the Deathly Hallows?"

Gellert eyed him shrewdly for a moment. Then, as if deeming him trustworthy, he nodded. "It is indeed. Am I to take it you see the truth that so many others overlook within the legend?"

Albus could only nod.

"Then come in, my new friend, and let us discuss this unexpected, extremely fortunate turn of events." He opened the door wider, and Albus stepped through into the most pivotal relationship of his life.

* * *

I didn't know how it was going to unfold. Had I been aware, I'm not sure I would have stopped it, or that I would have been able to. Even Destiny doesn't control everything, you see. People live moments. People make choices. And with every choice, great or small, the future changes.


	5. Snape

**Author's Note: Technically, there's more than one moment in here, but I got a bit carried away when I was writing. I wanted to give a bit of background to this, because I've been fascinated by Snape and Lily's friendship since I first read about it. Thank you to anyone who has Favourited this or added it to their Alerts list. And extra thanks to L.A.H.H, yellow 14, Goth Bookworm and ThisLoveHasNoCeiling for reviewing! It really makes my day.**

February 1994, Fourth Year

It took a long time for Severus Snape to realise he was in love with Lily Evans. He'd always known she was special, from the moment he first saw her, a bright-eyed eight year old in the park with her sister. Petunia and Lily were opposites in almost every way, and if Severus didn't know any better, he'd swear they weren't really related. How could they be?

Where Petunia was exasperated, Lily was patient. When Petunia was negative, Lily would remain staunchly optimistic. Where Petunia was judgemental, Lily was accepting. Her qualities alone singled her out, and if Severus were honest with himself, he'd admit that back then, before childish impressions solidified into immovable prejudice, he'd have considered approaching her even before he knew she was a witch. And then he found out, and none of that mattered anymore. It happened in the playground, the common ground that formed the basis of their friendship.

"Mum, mum, look what I can do!" She had cried, presenting her open palm to her mother like an offering. Inside, a daisy rested, its petals opening and closing slowly.

Mrs Evans' eyes had widened with surprise, and then she'd chuckled. "What a lovely trick! How clever you are!"

"It's not a trick, I swear! It's doing it all by itself."

Her mother eyed her doubtfully. "It must be the wind." From behind a bush, Severus snorted. There was no wind. And he would never doubt this girl. One day, he would approach her, and he would show her all the secrets of magic, and Lily, she would respect him. They might even be friends. That would be nice; Severus had never had a friend before.

* * *

That was then, and this was now. Time had changed them both, and only shreds of their younger selves remained, kept alive in the turbulence of their friendship. For it was turbulent, no longer the easy companionship of their youth. A chasm had opened up between them, a chasm that yawned ever wider, coming together for brief moments on the holidays when it was just the two of them and everything seemed alright again.

He supposed it was inevitable for them to drift apart, and had become so from their first year when she'd taken that small but significant step away from him, and towards her Gryffindor housemates. Severus had known Lily wouldn't be a Slytherin. She was too inherently _good _for that. Still, he couldn't help hoping, because the alternative….well, he was living the alternative, and he hated it.

It was more than the fact that he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor. It was…everything! Severus was jealous of her friends in Gryffindor, jealous that they got to spend more time with her than he did. He was furious at their disapproving looks, the ones tinged with disgust that they seemed to reserve for whenever he was around Lily. Those same giggling bimbos frequently advised her not to talk to him, and Severus was well aware that she ignored them and continued to be his friend. She would always be his friend. Her loyalty was admirable, and on more than one occasion, Severus reflected that it made her like a Hufflepuff and that therefore maybe Hufflepuff wasn't quite so bad.

Despite Lily's loyalty, her friends' attitudes stung Severus, left him with a familiar feeling of shame that even time spent with Lily couldn't entirely dispel. No matter where he went, he was looked down upon, he didn't belong. But he would change all that. He would become someone powerful, someone Lily could be proud of, not someone she'd have to pity.

He'd tried to explain this to Lily once, but she'd only looked at him with unspeakable sadness in her eyes, and said. "I'm proud of you already Sev, you don't have to change."

He held those words close to his heart ever after, turning them over and over in his head until he was afraid they would crumble with age and wear, like the well-read pages of a book.

Lily, in turn, didn't like his Slytherin acquaintances. He didn't use the term friends, because he knew there's no way they could be anything of the sort. Severus didn't like them very much either, but he admired them. They were tough, in a way he could never be, and by associating himself with them, he could catch the eye of the really powerful people. Lily didn't understand this. There was no way she would comprehend his need to be someone _more_ – how could she? She had never known what it felt like to be so crushingly inadequate – so he didn't tell her. He defended his 'friends' when she raised the issue, and as a consequence the rift between them worsened.

And then there was James Potter. Severus' teeth ground together automatically whenever he so much as thought the name. That arrogant, conceited, selfish, prat! He was nothing but a bully, and Severus couldn't help but form an association between James and Tobias. Both took pleasure in making him feel small and useless, both thrived off humiliating him. As if he needed another reason for Lily to pity him. His blood boiled, and a few books flew off their shelves close to where he was sitting in the library. He should have better control than that.

He heard footsteps behind him, and then Lily sat down in the seat beside him, plonking her bag and books on the table. "Hey Sev,"she said, smiling tiredly.

Instantly his anger disappeared and his heart started to beat erratically in his chest. "Hi Lils." He was amazed it came out sounding normal considering the sudden dryness in his throat. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"All this homework is taking so much out of me. And they say it gets worse in Fifth Year! But never mind that, why're you here all by yourself at lunch time?"

She realised the way her words sounded as soon as they left her mouth, and she saw Severus' face close down. She tried desperately to salvage the situation. "That definitely didn't come out the way I intended! I'm sorry Sev. Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive." But he still stared intently at his book.

She sighed. "If that's true, then I gather we can go to Hogsmeade together this weekend?"

"Don't you have _friends _to go there with?" He spat, shame making him bitter.

"Sure I do. But I want to go with you. You're my best friend, remember?" Distantly, the lunch bell sounded. "I'd better go now, or I'll be late for class and so will you! I'll meet you here after dinner and we can do some homework, okay?" Then she was gone. _Best friend is all you'll ever be to her, _he thought, in a terrible moment of understanding_._

And maybe she didn't mean it, but that didn't change the fact that with those words his heart, it stopped. It froze, it plummeted, it broke, it did all those things that a heart that has no love has been said to do. And there were no words to describe that kind of pain.


	6. Petunia

**Author's Note: I'm thinking about rounding this story off at ten chapters, otherwise, if I don't give myself a limit, I could go on forever. Also, with the semester starting soon, I'd have increasingly less time to write and update, so I think it's the best course of action. As usual, I extend a very heartfelt thank you to everyone who has taken the time to Follow, Favourite or leave a review. I hope you enjoy this one, too.**

When Petunia Gave Up

It was difficult knowing you were only ever going to be ordinary. It was a fact that Petunia was forced to accept after finding out that her sister was a witch, just like in all the stories they used to read together. Except that this was no story, because if it were, they wold both be witches, and they would go to school together and have grand adventures. Instead, Lily would get to go on adventures, and all Petunia would get was left behind.

"Mum, Tuney, watch me fly!" Lily was gaining momentum on the swing, her blue dress flapping behind her. Her sister and her mother watched agog as she went higher and higher.

"Lily dear, maybe you should stop now," her mother said, a note of anxiety entering her voice.

"Not yet mum, you haven't seen me fly. Ready? Three, two….one!"

On one, she let go of the swing and launched herself into the air. Instead of falling, as most people would do, she rose slowly, and hovered. Petunia thought, unwittingly, of an angel. Her descent was slow and controlled, and she held her arms out wide, as if to embrace the world, and all the marvels it offered her.

Mrs Evans had gone rather pale, and she raised one hand to her chest, as if to slow her racing heart. "That was amazing. You're- you're a very special girl Lily."

Her smile wilted a little. "Then why don't you look happy?"

"I'm just worried. You see, there are people who wouldn't understand how special you are. They'd think you were strange, and they might want to do tests on you to find out how you can fly, and do all the things you can do. I want you to promise me you won't do that anymore, okay?"

"Yes mum," she said solemnly, but Petunia could tell she didn't take the danger seriously, and she had her fingers crossed behind her back.

To the side of the scene, Petunia furtively picked up a daisy in her own palm. She stared at it intently, trying to make it open and close like Lily had done so many times before. She waited, and nothing happened. Her eyes closed, teeth clenched and still, nothing happened. When she realised that the flower would not move for her, she threw it viciously to the ground, stomped on it and stalked to the swings.

"Good girl. How about we go home now? I think that's enough time at the playground today. Petunia, are you coming?"

"Can I please stay a little longer? I won't talk to any strangers, and I'll come straight back."

"If you want to, but don't be too long. And don't talk to strangers." With that, she and Lily walked away in the direction of their house, and Petunia was left alone at the park, as she'd planned.

For some time, she just sat on the swings, and thought. Lily had done extraordinary things, or made extraordinary things happen, ever since she was a little girl. Although confused, their parents were undoubtedly proud of their "little girl" and all she could do. They praised her and worried about her in equal measure. Petunia knew on some level that they loved her too, it was just difficult to remember when Lily was kind and Lily was special and Lily was pretty and Lily was funny and Lily was everything. Which made Petunia nothing. Unimportant, of no consequence.

At first, Petunia was as amazed by her sister's abilities as her parents, and would tell her to perform her tricks so that she could watch in awe. But over time, as Lily grew, and her powers along with her, Petunia became aware of an unpleasantness that started in her stomach and spread and spread until it pressed at her throat and she couldn't hold it in.

Spiteful words would burst from her then, bitter remarks that hurt her as much as they hurt Lily. _"Freak. Mutant. Monster. You're nothing but a weirdo!" _Afterwards, they filled her with shame, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to stop. It felt good to make someone feel as miserable as she did.

As a child, she couldn't put a name to her feeling, but when she was older, she identified it as jealousy. A most potent poison, she would come to realise, and so destructive to relationships. All she wanted was to be like Lily. She'd thought it was supposed to be the other way around. Wasn't the younger sibling supposed to idolise the older? Not in this case. Why would Lily need to idolise her, when she was _special? _Why would anybody ever notice Petunia, when right beside her, and infinitely superior, there was Lily?

Just because she couldn't make a stupid flower open its stupid petals, didn't mean she couldn't fly. Fuelled by her bitterness, Petunia swung her legs faster and faster until the world was a blur of colour, and she could no longer hear the birds chirping, mocking her with their perfect sounds. And then, when she was infused with just the right amount of recklessness, she threw herself off the swing.

As the ground rushed up to meet her sickeningly fast, she realised her mistake. She would never be special, so she would devote herself to being ordinary, as ordinary as possible. She would never try to be like Lily again, she would only ever be Petunia, carving her own lonely path through life.

In truth, Lily wasn't perfect. She couldn't play a sport to save her life, and her anger, when triggered, exploded like a volcano. She spoke before she thought, she made mistakes, she was human, just like everybody else. Being human means that we're fallible, we're more often than not at the mercy of our emotions and we're, none of us, not even close to perfect. It took Petunia many years to accept this, she was an old woman before she'd even admit it to herself, but when she did, she was glad.

There was a strange _"thud!"_ as she hit the ground, and from her right wrist, which she'd put forth to protect herself, she felt a surge of pain, and she knew that it was broken.

She bit her lip to hold back a sob. Crying was something Lily would do, and she would not be like her. Petunia heard the pound of footsteps against the pavement. Her mother's shoes came into view, and then her face, as she bent down close to Petunia.

"Darling, are you alright? I saw you fall! What on earth were you doing?"

"I –I was trying to fly."

Then, softly, so no one could hear, she whispered, "I just wanted to be special, too."


	7. Sirius

**Author's Note: Thank you enormously to anyone who has reviewed, Favourited or Followed this story. I know I say it every chapter, but it really does mean a lot to me.**

Sea salt and crashing waves is an impression Sirius Black will never forget. When he slips through the bars of his cell as a mangy, starving dog he has one thought in mind, and one alone: find Peter, get to Hogwarts. Make it right.

His first taste of freedom in twelve years is a bitter one, because all this time he'd been convinced, he'd hoped, he'd dreamed of the way it would be, but the reality is a sharp disappointment. He may have escaped one literal prison, the cold, austere, lifeless building of Azkaban, but somewhere along the way, he'd swapped one cage for another. He is trapped inside the horrors of his own mind, a prison from which there is no prospect of escape.

A turbulent sea separates Azkaban from the nearest stretch of land, and Sirius plunges in without a thought or hesitation, because when you're a fugitive on the run, the adage warning that he who hesitates is lost has never been more true. The waves are strong and relentless, and he is weak and resilient, infused with a purpose no sea can destroy: revenge.

The clouds are thick and grey, and an unnatural fog blankets the world for miles around. The only hint Sirius has of time passing is by the gradual rise of the moon and all her stars. The moon is full, and Sirius dimly registers that somewhere in the world, werewolves prowl, one of them lonelier than ever in the absence of a dog, a rat and a stag. The dog and the werewolf are the only ones left, now.

When he's a dog it's okay, because Sirius the dog doesn't feel the way that Sirius the human does. Sirius the dog can smell hints of residual smoke from fires long since burnt out, can hear the crash of waves hitting rocks miles away and can run much faster, and for much longer than his human counterpart. But all these things he takes for granted, the true blessings are the dulled colours through which he views the world, preventing him from being overwhelmed from the brightness he can barely fathom, and most of all, the simplicity of his feelings. Being a dog, albeit a flea infested one, grants Sirius a temporary escape from his grief and his loneliness and his rage and his very fragile grip on reality.

Still, there are times during his journey that foreign thoughts invade, and he finds himself questioning his own existence. Maybe he's been Kissed. And even if he hasn't, he may as well have been. Are you still completely human when your soul has been battered and stomped on, mended to a state of fragility, and then slowly sucked away again? Sirius isn't sure about that, nor about anything else.

Maybe this whole situation is an elaborate illusion conjured up by his broken mind, the last line of defence against an intolerable future. The chill from the water is actually the icy breath of the Dementors, his physical exhaustion is not physical at all, but his internal fight to remember that there is something to fight _for. _And then he remembers: Peter. Have to get Peter, have to protect Harry, and this, this bone-deep ache and this never-ending swim is the realest experience he's had in twelve years.

Even though he knows it's reckless, when he reaches the seashore after such a long swim, he reverts to his human form, just for a few seconds. This opportunity is too good to pass by. He closes his eyes and he breathes, and he doesn't think he's ever appreciated such a simple movement more. In and out, inhale and exhale, miraculously without an awareness of the stale smell of rotting flesh, and with a sense of clarity the likes of which he came to think he'd never feel again.

He feels his lips move involuntarily, and it's a few seconds before he realises that he smiling. Could he really have forgotten how to smile?

His second taste of freedom is slightly better than the first. He's sopping wet and exhausted and panting like the dog he is, but he's triumphant. He's made it this far, maybe he can make it the whole way. With that thought, a sudden lightness blossoms in his chest, and with a jolt he realises that he's rediscovered hope. For the rest of his life he holds this discovery close to his heart, and even when he's drunk so much firewhiskey he thinks he might not wake up in the morning, it's there, and he is certain that dawn will come.


	8. Cedric

**Author's Note: This is not my best, I'll be the first to admit that. I had an annoying case of writer's block with this one. I've fiddled with and tweaked it, but I don't think I'll be happy with it regardless of what I do. So, here it is. **

"…the selection of the three champions will take place at Hallowe'en. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school and a thousand galleons personal prize money." Those words had barely left Dumbledore's mouth when Cedric's dormmates and friends were looking at him and he knew without having to ask that the thought he should enter. He grinned back at them, flattered by their show of confidence in him.

A flutter of nervous and excited whispers buzzed through the Great Hall, and the atmosphere was charged with sudden expectation. None of them had ever experienced anything quite like this before. Several of them, like Harry and Ron, had previously had no idea that other schools of magic existed. Cedric was not exempt from the general mood of enthusiasm, and he listened avidly to Dumbledore's next words.

Cedric knew about the Tournament, and had done since early summer holidays, when his father had come home from work with a big announcement about something that was going to happen at Hogwarts the next year.

Amos hadn't asked Cedric if he would enter, or even if he wanted to, he'd just assumed it to be a given. Cedric appreciated his father's obvious pride in him, but sometimes it became a little bit too much. Amos was biased when it came to Cedric - he under exaggerated his shortcomings and over exaggerated his achievements, boasting about them to anyone who would listen. While it was nice to know he made his parents proud, there was a sense of expectation that came along with that, a constant need to _keep _achieving.

His mother, as usual, had been more reserved. "Is it really as dangerous as they say, Amos? I don't want Cedric in any danger."

"Nonsense," he said dismissively, "they've taken plenty of precautions this year; Dumbledore wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, Cedric can handle himself, can't you son?"

Later, when his father was at work, his mother had spoken to him separately and told him that if he didn't want to enter the Tournament, he didn't have to, and that she and his father would be proud of him either way. She surely would be, but Cedric knew that his father would be extremely disappointed if he didn't at least enter the Tournament.

By the end of the summer holidays, Cedric thought if he heard his father ask "Did I tell you how Cedric beat Harry Potter at a Quidditch match last year?" one more time, his head would explode.

The day before the visitors from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were due to arrive, October 29, Cedric took a moment during lunchtime to escape to the owlery and send a letter to his parents.

_Dear mum and dad, _he wrote  
_This is just a quick note to let you know that all's well at Hogwarts. The visitors from the other schools arrive tomorrow, and it's all very exciting. And I'm going to enter to be one of the Hogwarts champions.  
Hope you're both well.  
Love,  
Cedric_

The note was more for his mother's benefit, and his own. Once he'd put it in writing, he couldn't back out if he decided he didn't want to enter after all. He had announced his intentions, made a commitment.

Although he knew the likelihood of being chosen from among the many Hogwarts hopefuls was extremely slim, Cedric briefly allowed himself to imagine being Hogwarts champion, and even the winner of the Tournament. It was so beyond the realm of possibility it seemed like a dream. His mother and father would be there and his mother would cry happy tears, and his father would wipe his eyes and staunchly maintain that there was dust in his eyes.

The entire crowd was cheering for him, he was hoisting the Cup triumphantly above his head, Hufflepuff was for once the subject of acclaim instead of ridicule… He shook himself to reality impatiently. He hadn't even entered, and already he was dreaming of victory.

His friends and acquaintances, and even Hufflepuffs he barely knew, had been badgering him to put his name in the Goblet. When he had definitely decided, he told only his closest friends, because they were the only ones who really needed to know. They had all offered to come with him when he put his name in, for moral support, but he'd declined them all, in the nicest way possible.

"I want to do this alone," he'd told them, and it was true, but it wasn't the whole truth.

He needed to put his name in alone, for the action had a certain kind of symbolism to it. If – and it was a very big if, he was well aware of that – he was chosen as Hogwarts champion, then it was a role he'd have to hold alone. He'd have the support of his friends, family, and the staff and students of Hogwarts - with the possible exception of the Slytherins – but as much as they might encourage and cheer for him, they couldn't accompany him into the three Tasks.

So in Cedric's mind, submitting his name to the Goblet of Fire, on his own, without fanfare or any sort of fuss, was an affirmation. A way to demonstrate that he was prepared to trust himself enough to face whatever challenges the next few months may present.

Unbeknownst to Cedric Diggory, when he placed his name in the Goblet of Fire, filled with hope and excitement and a little bit of fear, he inadvertently signed his own death sentence. From that moment on, his days were numbered and the course of Tom Riddle's regeneration had begun.


	9. NicolasPerenelle

"Perry," he calls to her from his workroom at the back of their little house, "I think I've got it!"

She comes hurrying in, her hands still wet from washing the dishes. "Are you sure?"

The reservation in her voice reminds them both of his many previous failed attempts, including the one where he'd nearly burnt the whole house down.

"Yes, yes, I'm certain this time darling, I promise you!"

"That's what you said last time, and it left you throwing up for an entire day!"

"Last time, I mistranslated a page in the book, but I've fixed that now. This," he patted the Book of Abraham the Mage, which lay open beside him, "has been correctly translated, and the Elixir of Life correctly brewed."

"I believe you, Nicolas," she says, still not sounding entirely certain.

"Then what's the matter?"

"We can already turn metal into gold. We live this modest existence out of choice, not necessity. I think…just because we _can, _it doesn't mean that we _should. _Maybe some things should remain hidden, unsullied by human intervention. And if we do this, and if the wrong sort of people find out, we'll be in danger for the rest of our lives."

'Maybe some things should be left alone, Perry, but not this. We have all this knowledge right here at our fingertips, all this potential. We might be the only people in history to have uncovered the mysteries of the book. Not to use what gifts we have, to help the world if not ourselves, would be a sin! Should we be in danger, we need only relocate temporarily. You forget, any who pursue us have a weakness we will not: mortality.

We could change the world, Perry, think about it! We could build orphanages to save starving children, we could buy enough food to end all shortages, educate young people and give them a future, we could do great things. The world is ours for the taking, Perry, and I'm asking you to reach out and grab it with me, please?"

As usual, in the face of his enthusiasm, she relents. "Well, when you put it that way… How often would we need to drink the Elixir to sustain the effects?"

"At first, we'll only need it once a month, but as we grow older, chronologically speaking, we'll have to take it more and more often. By the time we're a few hundred years old, I gather we'll just _know _instinctively when to take it. "

Something feels odd about what he's just said, and Nicolas realises it's the idea that they – he and Perenelle – could actually live as long as hundreds of years. To their forty_five_ year old selves – considered old to human standards, yet infantile and as inconsequential as a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things – it is unfathomable.

Death is something most people fear above all else, a reckoning we all eventually have to face. It is the ultimate equalizer. Who you are in life, rich, poor, black, white, male, female, none of that matters in death. In the end we're all the same; we all come to dust. Nicolas and Perenelle will probably have to face this at some point too – probably! That such a fact should be questionable at all fills him with a childish delight – but it is so far off in the future that it seems unreal. What does feel real is _this, _all of it, all of the sudden. He sees and hears and smells and feels the world with a new-found intensity, energized by the potential of the yawning future that lies before him.

He seizes her hand, eyes alight. "What are we waiting for? Let's drink it now!"

"Now!" She agrees, smiling in spite of herself.

So they each down a cup of the Elixir, which is surprisingly pleasant. They're both grinning so much their cheeks start hurting, but it doesn't matter because they've done it!

Perenelle runs into the kitchen and looks at her reflection in their mirror, and comes back a little more subdued, and disappointed. "I don't look any different. I've still got wrinkles and greying hair!"

"Don't you _feel _different? Stronger, more alive, somehow?" She starts to shake her head, but before she can finish, he grabs her hand again and spins her in breathless circles.

Through her laughter, she chokes out, "Nicolas, what on earth - ?"

"That feeling, the one where you're spinning so fast it seems like you can leave the world behind? That's us now, Perry. We're going to live through so many years and the world won't be able to catch us. We're immortal!" The way he says it, they could be invincible, but she knows they could never be that – rich and immortal though they may be, they're human first and foremost, and for that Perenelle is glad.

To celebrate their longevity, they treat themselves to dinner at a local inn, and drink copious amounts of wine and have eyes for no one but each other. It seems a fitting way to begin a life where they will be essentially alone, part of events yet distinctly separate from them.

Together, they watch as people close to them age and wither away, while they, exempt, choose to stay behind. They see wars begin and end, observe on the sidelines as history unfolds around them. But they agree that none of that even comes close to the moment they knew that they could live forever.

Infinite possibility unfolds before them, with so much time, more time than humanity was ever meant to have, they can be rich, and then poor, and then rich again, living a thousand lifetimes in one. And so they do, travelling from place to place, shedding identities as they go. Their blessing – sometimes, Perenelle calls it a curse, but Nicholas won't hear of it – means that they have no lasting friends except each other. Had they not had each other, it would have been a lonely existence, but even forever doesn't seem quite enough when you can spend it with the one you love.


	10. Merope

**A/N: Last one! I'm not sure I should have gone with such an obscure character, but I like Merope, certainly I feel sorry for her. Anyway, thank you very, very much to every single person who has read, reviewed, Followed or Favourited this collection. Your support means a great deal to me. I hope you enjoy this final moment.**

What a miracle it is, to have the privilege of existence!

With her father and brother locked away, the world reveals itself to Merope Gaunt, clearer than she has ever seen it before. Strength and magic return to her, and eighteen years of dreaming of escape have suddenly become a daunting and exciting possibility.

For her entire life, she's been tied to her family, meek and subversive and terrified. They don't love her or care about her in the slightest, that much has always been clear. They merely _tolerate _her.

When she is old enough to comprehend such things, she figures that she's tolerated as a means of continuing the family line, diminished and disgraced as it is. Morfin and Marvolo bear the Gaunt name, but they cannot have a child, and they're at least rational enough to realise that no woman will come within five feet of Morfin of her own volition.

Bob Odgen is the first person she can really remember being kind to her and it is nice and foreign and unfamiliar and it makes Marvolo furious and for that reason it is terrifying, too. Still, Merope is forever grateful to Bob Odgen who, in showing concern for her life, gave her the possibility to truly _live _it.

They say that you can't love if you haven't first known what it is to be loved, and Merope's life is both a contradiction and a testament to that belief. Before she was a year old, Merope's mother died, and to Merope she exists only as snatches of memory – a gentle hand smoothing her hair back, a kiss against her forehead, and hints of a lullaby she can never completely grasp. One day she lived, and the next, Marvolo beat her one too many times, and she just didn't get up.

Her brother and father beat Merope and treat her like slave, but she knows that as long as they think they need her, they won't kill her. It's her only piece of comfort in her bleak and comfortless world, until she sees Tom Riddle. Her days revolve around his appearances outside her window, and her happiness isn't dulled even when he's with that pretty girl (Celia, he calls her), just a glimpse of him is enough.

It's only once she's alone that the idea of slipping him a love potion comes to her, but when it does she can't get it out of her mind, and the possibility of a brand new life revitalises her, and she is lucky it does, because her escape is not immediate.

It seems like a long time before Tom rides past her house unaccompanied, if at all. With each passing day, Merope becomes increasingly anxious, because each day brings the return of her brother and her life of servitude a little bit closer.

And then one day he appears alone, like a mirage she can barely bring herself to believe in, or a miracle.

She knows she must look like as much of a mess as she feels, with her hair wild and dirty, despite the fact that she's brushed it vigorously with an old brush she's hidden under her mattress, and her wandering eyes that she doesn't know how to fix. Still, he doesn't have to like her. He just has to tolerate her, just like her family had done, and drink the "water" she offers him.

Futilely brushing her hair behind her ear, she pushes open the door, the dead snake skin dangling like a macabre warning, and waits for him on the path.

"Hello there," she begins, conscious of how her voice is croaky from disuse. "Aren't you Tom, from the Riddle house over the way?"

She tries not to be hurt by the disgust evident in his expression, or by the way he visibly recoils from her grungy appearance. It doesn't work, and his unspoken rejection feels like a kick in the stomach, a pain that is different and somehow worse than any blow or insult her family could have delivered.

"Yes," he says after a beat, "I am."

"I'm Merope. I saw you coming and I thought you must be awfully hot and uncomfortable riding in this weather. Would you like some water?" She gestures in what she hopes is a casual manner to the glass she is clutching as though it is her salvation, because it _is._

The sun beats down relentlessly, and she can see droplets of sweat trickling down his face. Surely he won't refuse her?

Tom Riddle gazes doubtfully at the glass, weighing his reluctance to accept anything from the tramp's daughter against his thirst, and his thirst wins.

"Water would be marvellous, thank you," he answers, downing the entire glass in one gulp.

She isn't really doing anything wrong, Merope reasons, because she will stop giving Tom the potion eventually, once he loves her of his own accord. All she is doing is pushing him along a little.

When Merope spikes Tom Riddle's potion, she has no idea that a loveless union will create a loveless child who will tear the wizarding world apart. To her, it's not a loveless union at all – she certainly loves Tom, or at least the idea of him, and in time she believes he will come to reciprocate her feelings.

She just wants – needs - to be loved, just like everyone else does. And who can blame her for that?


End file.
